


A Secret of Bees

by OuyangDan



Category: Cracksmash - Fandom, Norse Mythology, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OuyangDan/pseuds/OuyangDan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will be a story in three parts, and I blame all of them on Barbeauxbot. Some comic, some Norse myth, and a large heaping of CS RP have mashed together to make this story which never happened when Sif and Loki were very young. It's an AU of our AU canon which results in an AU future. Confused yet? Good, maybe you'll just enjoy the story on it's own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not To Put Too Fine A Point On It

The sun filtered through the tall trees of the private garden, dappling the ground with a shimmer of gold which flickered with every breeze, and blew strands of Sif’s similarly coloured hair into her eyes. It carried that quiet which made her uneasy in her stillness. She rolled her shoulders, smoothed her hair back into her tight ponytail, and let out a long breath. 

Archery was hardly her favorite. She was skilled enough that should could teach it to Loki, though he quickly passed her in skill. She trained her eyes down, focusing on the target, and curled fingers around the riser. She loosed the arrow, striking the target — but only barely. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to abate her aggravation.

“Fair shot, my lady Sif.” Loki released his next, striking just off the center. To his credit he didn’t look  _too_  smug at this, and to hers, she took it with good grace.

“You do not need to assuage my ego, my prince. Should you wish to switch to blades I believe you will find me not so easily bested.” 

His eyes drifted upward, watching a hive of bees as they made a low drone of life. “I am not so foolish.” He smiled at her, warmly, sun glinting of his winged headpiece. “Though I have considered that it may behoove me to learn to use daggers.”

She let her arms drop as she leaned her weight over the recurve. “By the Nine, yes.” She let a soft chuckle.

“Had I known it would please you so, I’d have asked sooner.” Loki slipped the string from his own bow, letting the wood relax. 

Sif rolled her eyes. “That is not it.” She did the same to her bow and met his eyes. “I am wasting away. I should be honing my skills. I should be pushing myself and seeing how far my potential can take me. I should be a shieldmaiden of Asgard. Not…” She gritted her teeth. “Not teaching princes to shoot targets.” She winced. “I did not mean to offend.”

“I am not offended, my lady.” He crossed his arms, a frown creeping over his face. “I take it you have made no further progress on the matter with your family.”

She snorted. “It would  _better serve the crown_  if I were to remain here at court.” There was a note of obvious petulance in her tone as she crossed her arms. She followed the bees with her eyes, frowning. “Whatever meaning there is in that.”

Loki gestured to a stone bench after leaning his bow against a small arbor woven with moonflowers. He waited for her to sit, which she did with a huff, before he seated himself beside her. He rested a hand on her arm, curling towards her in a familiar way which made her relax despite her foul mood. “I have noticed things. Mother and Father, watching you.”

Sif’s face pulled in stern confusion. “Watching me how?” It niggled at something in her stomach, a feeling she was unused to twisting it and making ice run through her veins.  _Fear_.

“Assessing.” He shrugged and offered a smile. “Perhaps you are being considered for Balder.”

This did nothing to assuage her aggravation. “Balder,” she spat. He is every bit as crass and bold as his name. How could anyone possibly…” She sighed, trailing off. There was irrefutable logic to his words, and it was not the first time she’d heard whispers of such things. Her eyes followed a bee as it dipped inside the center of one of the large, pale blooms, then flew off.

He approached it with more caution than he did most things. “Is that so terrible? I believe they intend it to be complimentary.”

Sif drew her legs up on the bench and faced him. “Complimentary? Of course it is. It implies all sorts of wonderful things. That I am worthy to endure him hulking himself over me night after night while he tries to fill me up with fat heirs.” She rolled her eyes. “I will spend my best years burdened with child and never know victory at battle.” She slid a dagger from a sheath at her waist, flipping it in her hands before handing it to him, pommel first.

Loki’s expression turned painfully sympathetic. “I am certain if you speak of this to Mother, she will intercede on your behalf. My parents are not cruel to those outside our family.”

Sif turned her face down and let out a rough breath. “Perhaps. Even a quarrel is better than enduring Balder for eternity.” 

A curiousness sparked behind Loki’s green eyes. “I find myself honestly surprised. I thought you would be more pleased at the suggestion.” He tested the weight of the dagger in first one hand and then the other. “He is a great warrior of some repute, if you ask him, and if the tales are even half true, considered pleasant to look upon.” His lips quirked in a half-grin. “Though the women whose word I have heard have not your careful eye.”

Sif laughed, the sound first a bark then a roiling chuckle. “He catches a fair profile to be certain. I could see the appeal.” Her eyes rolled hard skyward. A small cloud of bees flitted over the early blossoms of a pear tree a fair distance from them. “Were that enough, perhaps I would not be so reluctant. He is boorish and gruff and self-serving. I am not nearly tenacious enough to feed his ego for millennia after millennia while he grunts against me then passes into slumber.”

Loki’s face lit with every insult, as if each one were a compliment to himself. “Do not feel you need to hold back, my lady.”

Sif bumped her shoulder against his, not entirely gentle. “Nor am I vapid enough to pretend to enjoy that insufferable song.”

Loki groaned. “That song.”

“Not nearly as horrific as the cake.”

“Not by half.”

Sif covered her mouth and suppressed another laugh. “I would be condemned a king killer before the end of his first birthday celebration.”

Loki seemed pleased with the weight of the dagger in his hand, his expression indiscernible. “I would cover for you, my lady. If you  _accidentally_  killed him.” He laid a hand over his heart and made a dramatic bow in her direction. After he righted himself, he gestured back towards the targets. “Shall we?”

Sif stood, her mood lightened at the prospect of more practice. “You are making oaths to me now, my lord?” She shoved him hard as she walked past. “You would need cover our tracks with your mother, your father, and Heimdall.” 

He dropped his voice for only her to hear. “The palace is very large, my lady.” A lowness laced his tone. “Many nooks and crannies.” He righted himself, more casual now. “And bedchambers, if you are interested.” Realisation flashed behind slightly widened eyes. “I never truly considered the fact that you are Heimdall’s sister.”

“Aye. I apologise that I had not disclosed this fact to you sooner.” Her smile took on a wry twist.

He snorted. “No. Something just occurred to me, is all.” He jerked his chin at the beehive. “Shall we aim for the bees?”

“He affords me a measure of privacy. Heimdall does not wish to see all, as it stands.” Sif lifted both shoulders and let them fall. “And what if I get stung?”

Loki’s eyes danced. “So long as I do not lay waste to cities or sire royal bastards, Father pays me little mind.” He watched the beehive for a moment in consideration. “Perhaps you could demonstrate your prowess with the dagger, and I could dazzle you with my magic.”

Eyebrows lifted high on Sif’s forehead. Magic was a strange and nebulous thing. The attempts to educate her in it bored her to near-tears. Loki, however, never did. There was always a chance his demonstrations would turn into something of a lark, much like the situation in front of them. “Aye. I am amenable to this suggestion.” She looked at him a long time before she added, “both of your suggestions.”

He seemed stymied, but only for a heartbeat as he handed the dagger back to her. “Really?”

Sif shrugged. “I do not see why not.” She turned, lining up the shot, her hand making small arches in practice as she aimed at the hive. She took a deep breath. “Are you ready, my lord?”

He gaped at her for just a moment then recovered. “May your aim be true, lady Sif.”

It was. The dagger struck the hive, which rocked and fell, smacking against the ground with an intensifying buzzing. Loki called magic to his fingertips with little effort, the bees which rushed them exploding in small bursts. Sif took a reactive step back as a pair evaded him. One sped in ever-tightening circles. He swatted, knocking one from the air, but the other stung him anyhow, falling instantly dead to the ground.

They two frowned at it.

“Are you injured, my lord?” Sif examined his hand, temporarily mollified to find no apparent redness or swelling.

The breeze swept past them. “This… happens. For whatever reason, they do not like the taste of me, and those which try find themselves the worse for it.” His eyes turned to hers. They were no longer of an equal height. He’d surpassed her several years back, though she kept growing. “My lady Sif, I was unaware that you were… so sensible.”

Her head canted. “About?”

There was a brief hesitation before he brushed a kiss across her cheek. “I find myself flattered. And… admittedly keen to find an empty bedchamber.”

She blinked a few times. “It seems practical. I trust you wholly. I believe you enjoy my company as much as I do yours. You are pleasing enough to look upon, as am I.”

He chuckled, tentatively threading his fingers into strands of her gold hair. “I believe this is going to be a learning experience for us both, my lady.” His fingers found purpose, winding strands firmly about his hand as he leaned forward to lightly graze his lips over hers.

Sif cupped his cheek, smiling warmly. “We seem to find ourselves with no shortage of those, my lord.” She tilted her head one way, then the other, uncertainly, before deciding on an angle. Finally, she bolstered herself, and returned the kiss.


	2. First They Go To Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Sif deal with the aftermath of their misjudgment.

Her hair was rays of sun spread out on the pillow and his fingers shadows which blocked it out. Loki dragged his fingers through the length of it, letting his thumb skim her shoulder as the strands fell through, catching in the light breeze sweeping in through the window. 

Sif propped her head on one fist, making a contemplative sound, her eyes following a single bee as it slipped in and out of sight along a strand of hanging wisteria. Loki’s fingers danced cool on her still-damp skin. She stretched, her muscles loose and easy, then rolled to her back to look up and examine his face. She let a finger brush over the length of his nose to his chin as she her mouth twisted into a thoughtful expression. “I find this arrangement satisfactory.”

Loki’s eyes widened just a little. “Merely satisfactory? My lady, I am ashamed.”

She chuckled and leaned up onto her elbows. “Enjoyable enough, but…” She trailed off in her thought. “Perhaps we should not try this again.” Her eyes held his, looking for any sign of displeasure.

The sheet pooled around his waist, his slender form relaxing easily against the pillows. A finger stroked over his chin, his expression unreadable. “I agree.”

“That is that then.” She smiled more easily and sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. A wash of relief eased her face as she sighed. “I admit I worried this would be awkward.”

He laughed, even as something secret twinkled in his eyes. “My lady I worried the same.”

Sif brushed her fingers through his hair and pressed a lingering kiss to his brow. “We made a misjudgment. Nothing more. There is no loss to be found here, my lord.”

“No loss at all,  _Sylfhair_. Though I think we might dispense with the honorific, my lady.” He gestured around them. “We seem to be far removed from ceremony.”

“True enough.” She slid off the bed, both feet at once, and began pulling on her clothes. “Though if it is all the same to you, I prefer that nothing change.” She frowned in that thought, her hands in her hair as she swept it back into a ponytail. “I will speak to your parents regarding their intentions towards me.”

Pulling his breeches on, Loki watched her over his shoulder, appreciating her long lines, the movement of muscle, the way the sun glinted off her hair, giving the illusion of honey dripping from a comb. “I have a thought, if you will indulge me.”

Sif’s smile spread wide enough to show most of her teeth. “I will hear your idea. Whether or not I choose to indulge you is another matter altogether.” She lifted her chin. “Too long have I known you and your brothers, Son of Odin, to be swayed by your charms alone.”

“My innumerable charms aside, I am confident you will find my thought interesting.” He picked up the belt she had cast aside in their hurry, sliding the dagger from the scabbard. 

One eyebrow arched high on her forehead. “You have my attention.”

 

#

 

“My child. What have you done?” Frigga’s words were barely a whisper when she beheld Sif. A cloud briefly covered the queen’s eyes, and in the next moment it was gone.

“We cut it.” ‘We’ lingered on her tongue longer than it should have. Sif stood tall and defiant, her chin raised as if any slight of posture were a fault to be found in her. Any show of weakness or regret now would undo the whole of their scheme. 

Frigga cupped both sides of her face, then ran her fingers over the spikey remains of her flaxen hair. “When the Allfather learns of this…” Sadness touched each of her features, pooling guilt deep in Sif’s belly. Frigga shook her head gently, as if deciding something. “What shall we do with you?” Her words were softly spoken, not scolding, with all the affection of a mother.

“I wish to be a shieldmaiden of Asgard.”

Frigga pulled her into a tight embrace, cradling the back of her head. “Oh, my darling. You will be, in time. You will be.” She turned Sif’s face up and gazed deeply into her eyes. “But first we must deal with what my son has unwittingly wrought.”

Sif touched her hair and frowned. “Twas not alone he acted, my queen. Please.”

Frigga scrutinized her for a moment longer, letting out a soft sigh. “Oh, Sif, my dear. I know.”

 

#

 

Whatver Odin would have in store for the offense of cutting her hair, Sif knew not. He was never lacking in creativity when it came to exacting punishment, and it seemed a more grave matter to Frigga than she’d imagined. More likely than not, there would be sewing of lips closed. That was possibly the least cruel thing her panicked mind conjured. 

Loki seemed unfussed by most of it, when he was around to be seen. Their weapons training ceased altogether. If it were Loki’s desire to do so, or it was ordered of them, she didn’t know but she also didn’t dare question it. Instead, she poured her frustrations into sparring with Thor.

“My lady Sif, I hear you and my brother have had a falling out.”

Sif frowned as she parried his swing. There was a chance her tone was sharper than necessary. “We did not have a  _falling out_.”

Thor’s eyes flicked to her short-shorn hair. “Aye. I see. My mistake, my lady.”

“We merely made a misjudgment. That is all.” She stopped and wiped sweat from her brow with her forearm. “That is  _all_.”

“As you say, Sif.” He wiped sweat from his own brow and offered his hand to shake at the end of their bout.

“I do say, and if you insist up on this argument I may cut your tongue from your mouth,  _my lord_.”

He laughed and clapped her roughly on the shoulder.

Sif returned to her quarters, washed, changed, and sat on the edge of her bed, contemplating the stars against the inky sky as she cleaned her blade. The light reflected from it, making patterns on the ceiling dance and flicker.

“Too lovely a night for one so fair to be alone.” Loki stepped from a shadow, one hand behind his back, the other proffering a single yellow rainflower. “It is too bad we have called off our arrangement, or this could easily be rectified.”

Sif stood, arms crossed over her chest, and inclined her head. “My lord.” The twitch of her lips betrayed the seriousness she tried to keep in her voice. “Have you been absent all this time only to bait me with your charms now?” She tilted her head. “You should have come better armed.”

His laugh was audible breath through his nose as he inclined his own head. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I believed you would go easy on me since I have come bearing a gift.”

Caution slowed her advance across the space between them. “What give have you for me? A flower?”

Loki produced both hands, holding between them a long, braided bundle of hair like pale wheat in the moonlight. “Seat thyself,  _Sylfhair_.”

“Where in the nine realms did you find that?” Caution underlaid her words as she took a seat.

“Does it matter? I promised to undo what I had done.”

“And your mother said it could not be so.” There was no argument on her tongue, and in the still of the night, he set the braid to her head, summoning magic to bind it with her existing fringes. Once it was in place he loosed the braid, letting the flaxen strands tumble over her back and shoulders. Sif wound a lock around her finger, looking at it with no small amount of marvel. She would never understand magic, not in all her many years.

Loki drew his fingers through it, smiling with self-satisfaction. Hair fell through his fingers, fading into the darkness, blending with the shadows cast athwart by the single lamp. 

Loki’s grip tightened on the strands, making Sif suck in a short breath. He breathed through his nose, each breath growing louder and more ragged. “No.”

“What is it, my lord?”

“They  _tricked_  me!”

Sif stood to turn to the looking glass just as he knocked the chair aside, swearing through snarls as the wood splinted apart. The moonlight reflected off of her hair, which hung about her shoulders in curtains made of the night sky.

 

#

 

The queen sat at her spinning wheel, running strands of silver as pale as moonlight from wisp as faint as clouds. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder as she looked deeply past the distaff.

Loki stood before his mother with uncharacteristic decorum, his posture straight and his hands folded neatly behind his back. Sif stood beside him, her dark hair bound tightly, high on her head.

The queen left them to their thoughts for a long time, her face drawn in an incredible frown. When she spoke, sadness laced every word. “My hearts.” Her gaze returned from where it had been, and she ceased the spinning, resting her eyes first upon Sif and then Loki. She motioned for them to approach taking one hand each of theirs in each of her own. “How I love both of you with the depths of my heart.” She squeezed each hand. “What is done cannot now be undone.” Her fingers pulled gently, sliding through a lock of Sif’s hair. “Such lovely hair. I will miss you.”

Canting her head, Sif looked first to Loki’s confused expression, then back to Frigga. “I do not understand, my queen.”

“You will find sisters among the shieldmaidens, my child. And so much more.”

Loki scrutinized his mother’s expression, then swore.

 


	3. Then They Go To Hive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three with some Special Guest Stars.

It was Brunhilde who came to see her when she should have been abed and not pacing the halls endlessly. Brunhilde who was a wonder to behold in combat. Brunhilde who was nearly perpetual motion of blonde braids and glints of sunlight off of steel. Long arches that made the sword an extension of her well-muscled arms. Brunhilde who pushed her to learn faster and left little room for mistakes. There was no room for excuses amongst the shieldmaidens.

For all her sternness, it was also Brunhilde who had taken her under her wing and treated her as a sister.

“Sif you should retire to your bed.” Her bright blue eyes pierced Sif with a fierceness she recognised in her own reflection. 

“I am a shieldmaiden of Asgard. I will not be brought to my knees by such a malady.” She braced her hands against her lower back as she gazed out over the garden, bouncing with every step.

Brunhilde snorted and strode to Sif’s side. “Do you think bearing children is an easy feat? As many women have died in such matters as have given their lives on the battlefield.” She glanced at Sif, who’s brow rose in surprise. “Men believe Valhalla only for those who have shed blood for glory. They know not the true fight of a warrior.” 

A single bee danced about a cluster of begonia near the large, arched window. “I do not need you to assuage my ego, Brunhilde.” It flew off, it’s legs covered in pollen.

“Were I trying to assuage your ego, Lady of War, I would tell you how even as clumsy and slow as you are in your current state, you are the best of the maidens here.” She smiled and tilted her head. “Save myself, of course.”

Sif smiled, resting her arms on the top of her protruding stomach. “Of course.”

The stone of the wall was cool beneath her palm as she gritted her teeth against a contraction. She refused to lie down. If she kept moving, the contractions came more frequently, and the faster this was over the better. It seized her from her thighs to her chest, shooting pain up her spine and back again. The muscles tightened from her thighs to her chest, locking her back and making it impossible for her to suppress the whimper she let altogether.

“Would you care to go back to your bed now, lady Sif, or would you birth your child on this floor?”

“Hel’s handmaid,” she snarled through clenched teeth.

“Not quite, I’m afraid.” 

Sif turned her head down the long hallway to find Frigga, cloaked and standing in a shaft of sunlight. 

“My queen?”

“Maybe I might make an acceptable substitute, my heart?” Frigga approached them, her smile benign and her eyes loving. Her long gown dragged lightly on the polished floors behind her. Green orchids wove into the coif of her hair. She slid an arm around Sif for support. “I thought we might walk this path together.”

Val took up her other arm and together they took her to her room.

“I am ready to go back to my room now,” she managed between labored breaths. She leaned her weight against them, and the three of them helped her back to bed.

Once settled, the queen was quick to dismiss the others from the room, save Brunhilde. They drew the curtains, and were settled no more than moments too soon. The queen swaddled the boy in a blanket before he was even severed from his mother by the cord of life. The room spun in and out of focus with her fatigue, but there was no mistaking the child whom Sif bore was blue.

“Let me see him,” she whispered, her eyes wide with shock. “Let me see my son.” Even as she said them, the words seemed hollow, unreal.

Frigga nodded, cradling gently as she laid him against Sif’s chest. 

She pulled aside the blanket and gasped. He was cool against her skin, uncomfortably so, and his wails nearly shrill. “What will I do?”

Frigga’s eyes were sad and distant as she laid a hand on the boy’s head, summoning magic to her fingers. There was a silver shimmer of magic, and the glamour rippled into place. His head paled to mottled red and covered with downy hair. “I know of a place where he might live and grow among the mortals of Midgard.” One hand turned up Sif’s chin. “He will be safe in the place they call Broxton. But my son… must not know of this. It is not time.”

She turned horrified eyes up towards Frigga, understanding only now the full of everything. Of course they could not keep him. What would she even do with a child among the shieldmaidens, let alone with a giant? He would be killed on sight were he discovered. “What will you tell him?”

Frigga’s face turned mournful as she turned to gaze into the curtains, seeing through them. “The child died.”

Sif watched the babe against her breast, her brow furrowed. “I understand.”

“Will you name him, my dear?”

She nodded, closing her eyes and handing the child off. “Ullr.”

Frigga cradled him to her and nodded. “A proud name.” She leaned forward and laid a kiss among her brow.

 

#

 

“Varli Lokison, you are out of bed.”

Varli looked at Sif and lifted his eyebrow. “I needed a drink of water.”

“Is there not sufficient water in your own apartment?”

Varli shifted his weight from foot to foot. “But father is out of bed.”

Sif turned in time to see Loki, wearing the face he did what seemed a lifetime ago, frozen in place on the stairs. “Thor said I could.”

“Nay.” The kitchen was beginning to feel full as Thor passed his brother on the stairs, ruffling his hair good-naturedly. “I said you could have a drink of water.” He flicked his eyes between Loki and Varli. “In  _this_  apartment.” He sat beside Sif at the table in the Embassy kitchen and pulled her plate of cheesecake closer to himself.

Sif slapped his hand against the table, her formerly quiet midnight snack clearly a fleeting dream. “Varli your mother will string you up if she finds you out of bed. Loki,  _I_  will string you up if you do not go  _back_  to bed, and this cake of cheese is  _min_ e.”

“Yes Sif. Right away, Sif.” Loki scampered to the sink and filled a glass of water.”

Varli stood fast in his spot.

Sif let go Thor’s hand and leaned her chin on a fist. “Is there something more which you require, Varli?”

“Nori talks in his sleep. Could I stay for a story?” He widened his eyes considerably.

“Oh! Yes!” Loki bounced on the balls of his feet. “The one about Balder’s birthday!”

“ _Please_ , lady Sif? I will stay quiet for the whole story and be back in my bed before mother even knows I am gone.”

Thor slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. “My lady war, I believe you have a battle on your hands. Shall I follow you into it?”

Sif rolled her eyes. “Fine. All of you, up to bed.” She shook her head. “It is my lot to ever be harried by the needs of men. Od’s Blood.”

Thor kissed her on the cheek and rose, hefting Loki over his shoulder with him and lugging him up the stairs. “We shall anxiously await thee.”

Only Varli remained, inching closer and dragging a toe on the floor.

“Bees in your pillow, my heart?” Sif gestured to him to move closer.

He shook his head emphatically. He stepped into the arch of her arm and she patted his cheek, examining his face. “I really just wanted a story.”

Sif embraced him tightly with a low chuckle. “You have heard this tale countless times from those who tell it better than I.”

“I know,” he said into her hug. “But I like the way you tell it.”

She inhaled deeply and released him. “Hurry on now. I will be right up.”

“Will you get uncle to do the acting?”

“He will do so or he will sleep on the sofa.” She winked at him conspiratorially, watching him a little wistfully as he ran up the stairs.

 

 

 


End file.
